


Instinct

by clouds_in_jars



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Character Death, Erik is a Father, Gen, Human Experimentation, Protective Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:45:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clouds_in_jars/pseuds/clouds_in_jars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He is ready to proceed. He said you would know the best way to approach this.”</p><p>“Mmm.” Emma leans back in her chair. “Is he willing to let me improvise a little?”</p><p>“Of course” Moira’s lips curve up.</p><p>“Then I’d like to try a little brute force.”</p><p>“Of the animal kind?”</p><p>“Is there any other?”</p><p>Emma places the Lehnsherr file on the top of the stack. Finally, they can do away with the waiting game. Time to get to work.</p><p> </p><p>Shaw has a plan. Frost has her methods. Logan has a mission. Erik has a past.</p><p>Erik also has a son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Click. Click.

Clickable pens. The scum of stationary.

Click.

She slams her hand down on the table.

“One more time! Try me!”

“Deal with it Frost. You cut my quarterly budget. You get the cheap pens.”

Moira MacTaggert plunges the pen base down again.

Click.

Moira smiles. Emma grits her jaw.

“I know for a fact those are not cheap.”

“You’re right. I blew our stationary budget on the pens. There is no paper to write on.”

Click.

Emma groans.

“Point taken. I’ll take it under review. Update me MacTaggert.”

“He is ready to proceed. He said you would know the best way to approach this.”

“Mmm.” Emma leans back in her chair. “Is he willing to let me improvise a little?”

“Of course” Moira’s lips curve up.

“Then I’d like to try a little brute force.”

“Of the animal kind?”

“Is there any other?”

“Alright. Outline your play. Paperless, preferably.” Moira outright grins as she stands from her chair.

Click. Click.

Her heels echo on the floor as she strides out into the hallway.

Emma places the Lehnsherr file on the top of the stack. Finally, they can do away with the waiting game. Time to get to work.

 

* * *

“Alex, Armando is not a taxi service.”

“Whatever man, just saying. He’s driving you.”

“To work, Alex.”

“Hey Darwin! I’d start the meter now. Penalty rates for bad parenting.”

Armando grins from across the hallway. His suit jacket rumpled between his back and the wall he reclines on. He nods at Erik, palms his keys and stands up straight.

“Enjoy school Alex.” He calls out, turning down the hallway.

“Try to learn something.” Erik throws back over his shoulder, following Armando.

Alex snorts.

His father stops, turns and fixes him with a neutral stare.

“Changed your mind?” Alex asks.

“No. Take a jacket.”

 

Erik buckles his seatbelt as Armando pulls out from the curb. The windscreen wiper cuts an arc through condensation, revealing the busy street beyond. Traffic is less than ideal but he can see the sky and breathe fresh air.

He can feel Armando’s eyes on him.

“You good there?” He asks, hand resting on the window controls.

Erik glances to his left, waving off the concern.

They pull through the intersection and Erik is grateful for the movement.

He looks back at Armando.

“Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Takes me back to my Beat days except the clothes are nicer.”

“And stain faster.” Erik replies.

Armando laughs, exhaling through his nose.

“Yeah, yeah. Who would have thought coffee at a desk would be more hazardous?”

“Perhaps it is the people at the desks who are more hazardous.” Erik murmurs.

Armando shrugs beside him. He will take what he can get. Erik trusts him enough to get into an enclosed space with him. That’s what he calls progress.

Erik’s knuckles are whitening around his seat belt.

“Any news on the car?” Armando asks evenly.

“Routine wear and tear. It will only be overnight. This is a one off inconvenience, I assure you.”

“Learn how to take a favour Erik. I do not mind. Besides, pre-coffee Alex is a definite highlight.”

Erik grins. His fist uncurls.

“That boy…”

“…Would have walked into the wall if you hadn’t stopped him.” Armando laughs.

Erik huffs out a laugh in response.

“He did when he was a toddler. I had to cover the table corners with foam. He’d just bounce right off.”

“Must have a hard head. I wonder where that comes from.” Armando smiles wide at Erik.

“Eyes on the road.” Erik reprimands.

His eyes are smiling.

 

Armando eases to a stop. A metal gate bars their entrance to the underground car park. Concrete pillars and straight white lines are illuminated beyond by white artificial light. Erik hands him a crisp plastic pass.

Armando snorts at the photo glaring back at him.

“Wow.”

“Just scan it.” Erik sighs. His hand is clenching again.

Armando holds the pass up to the box beside his window and the metal gate slides to let them pass.

“Down here.” Erik instructs.

Armando pulls into the space marked with a solemn plaque declaring the entitlement of one ‘Erik Lehnsherr – R&D Manager’ to the precious city parking spot.

“Trade you a month’s donut entitlements for this parking spot?”

Erik’s teeth glint in the white light.

“Worth a try.” Armando mutters as Erik slams his door shut.

He has to jog to catch up to other man who is already halfway to the elevators.

Erik presses the button to call the elevator.

“Thank you again.”

“No worries. It’s what friends do.” Armando responds with a shrug.

The doors open and Armando steps in. Erik swipes his pass and selects the lobby floor before stepping back out into the car park. He indicates the fire stairs with a tilt of his head.

“Catch you tonight then.” Armando offers.

“Detective.” Erik nods once and the doors close on his retreating back.


	2. Chapter 2

Left. Right. Left. Right.

The rhythm of the stairs calms his heartbeat. Each flight brings a little more warmth, a little more ease. A looseness seeps its way through his leg, then his hands, then his chest.

Left.

The military stiffness that clings to his shoulders falls away after the fifth flight.

Right.

A welcome burn curls up his thigh after the seventh.

Left.

His hands are steady.

Right.

Erik pushes open the door to the eleventh floor. Warm, artificial air settles around him and he feels sweat bead down his temple and at his neck. He quickly sheds his coat and walks towards the solid metal doors cut into the opposite wall.

The elevator opens behind him.

He pauses with his pass card raised. The doors unlock with a sharp click that carries in the silence. A voice calls out from behind him.

“Stair day? It’s been a while.”

He keeps his back to the elevator, drawing the door open and waiting as the footsteps reach his back.

“You know we have a gym in the building.”

“Raven. Good morning.” Erik speaks to the open door.

“Body. Odour.” She reprimands as she passes him.

She strides ahead and he lengthens his steps to keep pace. She watches him without turning. She does not ask about the broken blood vessels in his eyes or the dark hollows below them.

Erik wonders if she has her own version of a Stair Day.

Raven moves with confidence. She does not peel off Military Raven each morning. She has sewn her into Raven Before and Raven After. Now she is simply Raven. A rigid spine with an ease to her smile and a watchfulness she can shed from her eyes with a blink. Raven After first appeared trading chocolate bars with 10 year old Alex beside his hospital bed, with Military Raven stealing glances at the mess she had dragged to safety, her eyes promising to give him a moment if he needs to fall apart again. He does.

Erik envies her ease. He envies her wholeness when he claws his way out of night terrors, fighting free from the chrysalis they weave around him.  
Erik After is always trying to forget there was an Erik Before.

He is not sure which part of Raven cannot stand the silence but he is willing to bet it is all three.

“We’re testing the knee today. So I hope somebody got the ligament tensile strength right this time.”

“Once, Raven.”

“Almost cut my face in two. What a way to go! Flying metal knee muscle. That was on you.”

“Metal is an entirely different beast to living tissue, Raven.”

She glares at him until he cannot hold his stern frown any longer.

“Bring me something good Erik. We’re close.”

She sniffs loudly at him as they part. He rolls his eyes when she looks over her shoulder.

 

He enters his workshop and the temperature drops several degrees. The cool air is refreshing and his head clears instantly. His ordered haven awaits.

So does Hank.

He stands, hunched uncomfortably, at Erik’s desk in the corner. His eyes are fixed on the small collection of papers he holds.

Erik forces his feet to step heavily enough to make a sound.

Hank startles briefly before self-consciously adjusting his glasses and gesturing to the computer at Erik’s desk, wordlessly laying the papers down.

Erik joins Hank at his desk, browsing the microscopic images displayed on the screen.

“These are failed tests.” Erik frowns.

“Yes, we didn't get new tissue. The degenerative disease in the cells is too dominant but here, look at the mapping of the failed cells.”

“Regeneration.”

“Yes!” Hank fidgets excitedly. “I only caught them last night. They appear for less than a second before failing. They can’t connect to the existing cells.”

“Too damaged?” Erik asks.

“No! That’s just it. The regenerating cells can’t connect because they are not made of the same material.”

Erik runs his index finger over the data-filled papers on the desk.

“If I can isolate the difference in the composition of the new and old cells, then we can get inside the regeneration process, even direct it.” Hank is practically beaming. His voice rising in pitch.

Erik nods. “The body could change itself. Become something new entirely.”

“Yes, the brain itself could integrate the limbs we build, form composite muscle groups, attach to bone…”

Erik holds up a hand.

“Hank. Don’t tell me, show me.”

Hank nods furiously, gathering his papers in a messy pile.

“I’ll be in the lab.” He turns to leave before halting suddenly. “Did you, uh, need anything?”

Erik’s lip twitches.

He checks his watch before shaking his head. He gestures to his left leg. “I have to be at testing in ten. New knee ligaments. We can’t all grow our own.”

 

* * *

 

Emma stands before a wide glass window. Logan is on the other side swatting the Tech away and roughly adjusting his own earpiece.

“Is the line clear, Mr Logan?” She speaks firmly.

An obscene gesture is levelled in the direction of her viewing window.

The door opens behind her and Moira enters. Emma turns to see her raising one eyebrow in amusement.

She turns back to the window. “My call.”

Moira nods, coming to stand beside her. She hands over a single sheet of paper.

“The X samples were integrated into the testing pool this week. Shaw believes the doctor will be able to recreate the catalyst within the time frame.”

Emma shakes her head. “The science is unstable. Shaw is risking too much on one chance.”

“He is the only available subject,” Moira replies, “Shaw believes…”

“The only thing he has to believe in is me.” Emma snaps. “I brought Lehnsherr back into this program after Shaw’s…unsuccessful methods. I arranged the players and kept him blind.”

Crash. Logan overturns a chair as he stands to his feet in the other room. The tips of three metal claws protrude from his right fist.

Emma smiles at the sight.

Moira turns to face her.

“Your play is risky too. If this goes sideways we have no control.”

Emma watches as Logan yanks the door open.

“You don’t try to control the uncontrollable. You angle everything else so the damage done is the type you want. You don’t tame it you just point it in the right direction.”

Moira eyes Logan’s back.

“And you are sure this is the right direction?”

“Trust me.” She hands Moira back the paper and turns her back to the viewing window. “All good weapons come with an off switch.”


	3. Chapter 3

Armando wheels back from his desk, rubbing furiously at both eyes. He can feel his focus waning. Tap. He pauses the gas station surveillance playing on his monitor, the faces blurring too much to be written off as poor quality.

Time for a break.

Stretching his legs to their full extension, he crosses between desks towards the small kitchen tucked into the corner of the office. One of the admin ladies traded him her secret tea stash spot for a weekly supply of chocolate coated almonds from the corner store near his apartment. He has changed it up this week by purchasing the mocha flavor, he knows she will respond in kind. Armando’s fingers close around a little box hidden behind the sink’s pipes. Pulling his mug from its hook with one hand, he pops open the box and inhales. She has not disappointed. The gentle, nutty scent brings a smile to his face.

He presses the kettle and pulls his phone from his pocket.

[I would like to book a taxi for 3.30.]

Armando bites his lip around a smile. It took three months after he moved in for Alex to even speak a word to him. The quiet, sullen 14 year old would pass him on the stairs, backpack slung over his shoulder, without so much as a nod. His vintage pinball machine, glimpsed through a half open front door by a stunned middle schooler helped to break the ice. One pinball schooling later and they were neighbours. Three years later and they are family. Alex had apparently moulded his couch to the perfect shape. Armando helps them rearrange furniture when Erik’s leg is between upgrades. Erik is scarily good come tax time. Erik is scarily good at a lot of things.

Armando has no other family nearby and having them one floor up makes the place his home more so than any pinball machine or goldfish (A birthday gift from Alex to ‘teach him responsibility’).

Alex and Erik mean a lot to him.

[Could be wrong, just a detective but I’m pretty sure it’s class time.]

[Free period.]

[Try again.]

[Was Dad ok today?]

Armando pauses. Oh man. He cannot lie to Alex. That tough act exterior with a too-open smile and a heart that is much too large for any kid to carry. He can’t lie about Erik.

[He took the stairs but I think he’ll be alright.]

There is a long pause and Armando pours boiled water into the teapot.

He glances down.

[Ok. Thanks man. You still owe me a ride.]

A small smile forms involuntarily on his face. He makes a note to check in with them later in the night. It is always tough to see the past creeping like a shadow over people’s lives. He sees it far too often at work and he won’t let it happen to this little family too. That’s what neighbours are for.

He inhales the scent from the brewing tea. This might just get him through another hour of footage.

 

* * *

 

His leg twitches upwards, its inner mechanics exposed to the light.

“It’s so great to have a working model.” Raven states to the room.

Erik closes his eyes, praying for patience.

“Get it?” She laughs.

The two others present groan quietly. It is not a new joke.

Erik responds with silence.

She sighs dramatically, twisting the pin attaching the new ligament fibre to the smooth metal bones and tightening it by one final quarter turn.

“There. Try the active warm up with that tension. Tell me if you feel in control of the bend.”

She closes up with the efficiency of a surgeon, stepping back to eye her handiwork.

He stands and begins to move. Long strides, lunging forward. Moving from a crouch to attention. And on it goes. He feels off balance at first as his right side adjusts to the new tension on his left but the movements become easier as he works through them, discovering a slightly improved range of movement as he goes through the crouching movements for a second time.

“Sharper angle. Better range.” He nods at Raven.

“Alright.” She leans over to her desk to make a note on her laptop.

“You,” she points to one of the Techs present without looking up, “Get me the readings from the leg for this session so I can compare.”

“On their way.” He calls, ducking back down behind his computer screen.

“You can escape back to your cave now.” She dismisses Erik, waving her hand, eyes still fixed to the screen.

He reaches the door, catching her loud “You’re welcome!” as he passes through.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone. A missed call from the mechanic. He puts the phone to his ear.

Hopefully this means he has a ride home. 

 

* * *

 

A small green dot blinks across her screen, pausing at the meeting of two crossed lines, an intersection, before continuing its path. Emma rotates her neck, feeling each muscle pull to its extreme.

“The tracker is in place. Shaw’s contribution to our plan is in play. Be sure to let him know.” Emma gestures to her door.

Moira stays firmly seated.

“Do you mistake me for a puppet, Ms Frost?” Her voice is calm, quiet.

She is both of those things, they disguise her cunning. Emma appraises her from across the desk.

“I am on a schedule. If you have something to say, say it.” Emma lays her words out guardedly. Fishing for a flinch, an eagerness, the seam of a disguise. She did not get to this point by trusting easily.

“I work under Shaw. I notice things. Patterns.” Moira begins. “His approach is direct. Uninspired. Reckless.”

Emma raises an eyebrow.

“And yet, here we are on the verge of an honest to god result.” Moira leans forward. “Somebody has been cleaning up his mess. That’s one hell of a garbage man.”

Emma allows a small twitch of amusement to show on her face.

“I am not in the habit of giving out my allegiance unearned. Impress me and it’s yours.” Moira finishes and sits back.

Emma checks the progress of the tracker before fixing Moira with her full stare.

“You say you’ve noticed Shaw’s patterns. His experiments have them too. Logan then Lehnsherr. Mr Logan’s time with Shaw made him quite susceptible to anyone who could give him a purpose. We made sure I was first in line. Shaw created him, I control him. Erik requires an approach with a little more… art. His case is still in progress and is about to begin its conclusion. As you said, with garbage, I am an artist. Though I prefer to think of it as picking up a toddler’s broken toys.”

An alert pops up at the bottom of her screen.

Emma extends a nail to brush the transmission button on her desk’s comm unit.

“Logan,” she continues smoothly, still watching Moira, “It’s time. Get inside. Get Lehnsherr to the meet site. No restrictions. No other parameters. Get it done.”

A muffled grunt comes back along the frequency.

Emma releases the button, still watching Moira.

“Like I said. I point him in the right direction. He does his best work acting on instinct.”

Moira leans forward again.

“I’m a crack shot, I‘ve been in all of Shaw’s meetings for the past year and…” she pulls a sleek black, non retractable pen out of her pocket and places it on the desk “…I have one hundred of these pens.”

Emma doesn’t try to hide her smile.

“Welcome to the most exclusive team in the Department of Defense.”


	4. Chapter 4

Alex swings around the stairwell corner. He propels himself up the final flight before their apartment. Shrugging out of his jacket, damp with rain, he fishes for his keys in the left pocket. A swift twist, click, shove and he is inside.

Jacket and bag are tossed on the low corner table by the window.

Or…

Jacket and bag are picked up again and taken to his room. One too many ‘responsibility’ lectures. Besides, his dad was rocking some hard-core insomniac eyes this morning and he’s not a total asshole.

Alex drops his things at the foot of his bed, hearing the pronounced thud of his Chem textbook. Ugh. One more year. One more. He’s lost in all the numbers with this titration thing. Dad is good with numbers. He should probably ask. It’s one of their deals. Dad’s assigned therapist suggested clear ‘expectations’ would help set a new routine after Dad left hospital and in the years since it just stuck. Alex will ask for help when he needs it and Dad will do the same.

He toes the fraying cuff of his jacket. That’s the theory anyway.

Erik doesn’t often ask for help. He doesn’t do weakness. At least, not in front of Alex. Sure he has told Alex about the military. He has shared, in that quiet, measured voice, of the friendships, the terror and the history of each scar on his body.

But hearing the stifled sobs seep through the wall in the early hours of the morning still feels like a mystery he cannot solve. They belong to another man and another time. Not his Dad.

He is not naïve enough to think he can fix that. He cannot help but try.

Dinner. He can make dinner.

He heads out to the kitchen and grabs a well-worn saucepan from the cupboard, selecting a couple of potatoes from the bag on the bench.

Right. Executive decision, dinner is on him tonight. Maybe he can try that mushroom and caramelised onion sauce. Dad seems to be a fan. Though he is usually the one making it.

Mushrooms. First things first. He pulls the fridge door open. Mushrooms come in bags right? Jackpot.

 

Wood splinters. Metal screams. The window flies open.

A man hurtles inside.

 

Alex slams the fridge shut. He lunges for the entrance to the kitchen. Get somewhere safe. Somewhere with a door. Somewhere…

The intruder is upon him. Blocking his path. Trapping him.

He stumbles backwards, scrambling to grab onto the bench and keep his feet beneath him. His hand closes on the saucepan handle. The man lunges forward. There is no time. He swings.

He swings hard.

The pan connects with a jaw and flies out of his hand. He does not stop to see where it lands. He is away. Hurtling into the lounge room. In a panic, he is lost in his own home. Left? Right? He turns left. Too late.

A hand clamps down on his shoulder and he is torn backwards. He is thrown off balance and topples down. Thud. His hip hits the ground. Hard. He sees a leg stepping towards him and lashes out. A fist to the side of the knee. A harsh grunt. The leg buckles before him and he scrambles, crawls, drags himself away.

 

Door. Front door. Get up. Get up. Go.

 

He is on his feet. Reaching for the doorknob.

Hands grab his shirt and he finds his voice.

“No!” He screams. “Hel…”

His breath catches as he is jerked backwards.

The hands grip his upper arms, bruising, numbing and he is flipped around to face his attacker.

His eyes are level with a dark brown beard.

 

That is all he sees before he is thrown against the wall.

 

* * *

 

His knee throbs and he slams his jaw shut against the pain. The pain is irrelevant. This is his job. He leaps after the fleeing figure and latches on before he can reach the door.

He starts to yell. Not going to happen.

Logan spins the target around. Best put a stop to that quickly. He propels him bodily towards the lounge room wall. The kid’s eyes widen in terror.

 

Kid.

Damn it.

 

He jams his arm between the kid’s head and the wall just before impact. Plaster buckles under his forearm. A spidery halo forms behind the boy’s head.

The kid’s neck is warm on his wrist. Still in one piece. Good.

A kid. The hell is he meant to do with this?

“You Lehnsherr?”

Crack. The kid elbows him in the chest. Hands grapple against Logan’s shirt, shoving him away.

“Hel…!”

No way. Logan snarls. Strikes. One hand closes around the boy’s throat.

The kid chokes out a cry, head arching back against the wall.

He looks down at his other hand. Metal claws are jutting out of his knuckles, pressing under the kid’s chin.

Damn.

Well. This is not going to plan.

He looks back up at the kid.

Sheer terror stares back up at him. The boy’s jaw clenches in response to the blades. His shallow panting ruffles the hair on Logan’s wrist. Frost. She knew. She has to. She does not get things wrong. This is still his mission.

“Look kid,” he starts, “I’m here for Lehnsherr. If you can tell me who I’m looking for it would help us both out a hell of a lot.”

A hand latches onto his wrist.

“I don’t know who you’re…talking about,” the kid whispers. He cringes away from the blades.

“No, I’m pretty damn sure you do kid.”

He begins to struggle under Logan’s hand, tugging on his wrist. Kicking at his shins. Logan sighs. He tightens his grip on the boy’s neck.

“Do not make me hurt you kid,” he grits out. 

The boy gasps against his palm. Tears of pain form in the corners of his eyes.

 

Logan closes his eyes. It’s a kid. He can’t.

A kid.

But he can’t fail. Failure is pain and drowning and black and…a kid.

“Come on,” he growls.

 

A key turns in the door.


	5. Chapter 5

Claws. This guy has claws.

This is not real. No way.

The sharp points pressing into his neck feel pretty real.

Dad. This guy wants to hurt his father.

He has claws.

 

“Do not make me hurt you kid.”

 

This guy could kill him.

Alex cannot draw in enough air. His vision swims and blurs under tears. Please, he thinks, let me go. Please.

A blurry door swings open on his left. The hand at his throat loosens and he gasps in air.

Everything brightens. His head throbs. His neck burns.

The sound of sliding metal cuts through the haze and he tracks the sound to the man’s outstretched hand. The claws that were at his throat are extended fully, pointed like knives at the doorway.

 

Pointed at his father.

 

* * *

  

“Dad!”

 

Fight. Neutralize. Diversion. Best option projectile at head. Launch attack low. Take out legs first. Throw off balance. Then follow through with…

Follow through with…

Alex.

There is a hand clenched around his son’s throat.

There are knives. Knives pointed at him but much too close to Alex.

Knives growing out of the intruder’s hands.

 

His mind is screaming but his hands are empty.

 

He forces a breath, dragging in air through his teeth. Control. Control the situation. He raises his hands slowly, palms outstretched. His left hand quivers. He cannot stop it. Not adrenaline. Fear.

An old, familiar agony pulses through his muscles. Coiling and tensing.

“Alex.” His voice is calm. His hand quivers. His eyes rest on the hand circling his son’s throat. On the red ring just visible beneath its grip.

The man follows his eye line.

 

“Lehnsherr, I assume?” The man asks roughly. “Close the door.”

 

He steps backward and reaches back to press against the door, hearing a small click when it shuts.

The man’s eyes are fixed on him. Erik opens his mouth. Alex moves.

His fist jabs out and hits the man’s throat, sending him reeling. The hand drops from Alex’s throat.

Do something. Now.

Erik spins, dropping down to one knee. He grips the small wooden table by the door and springs up, launching it towards the man’s far shoulder. As the intruder dodges, he propels off his right leg and tackles the man at the knees. They crash to the floor and Erik struggles to get up. He cannot get the bend on his left leg right and is left floundering amongst the intruder’s limbs for precious seconds.

 

“Go!” He barks out blindly.

 

He dodges a punch thrown at his chest and returns his own jab into a solid jaw. He whips his head around wildly. Alex. There.

He is on the floor too. Back pressed tight against the wall. Wide eyed and panicked. Too close. Alex has to be far away from here.

 

“Door.” Erik snaps.

 

Alex nods quickly and scrambles up.

Erik catches silver in his periphery. The claws sing through the air. Sharp. Deadly. Not aiming for him. Aiming for Alex.

Erik kicks out sharply. His left leg strikes out, blocking the path of the claws. Clang. The two metals collide and the impact vibrates painfully through Erik’s jaw. The man grunts in frustration and pulls back his arm. He throws himself over Erik’s leg and grabs at Alex’s ankle, bringing him down hard. A hiss of pain. A puff of exertion. Panicked eyes finding his.

He rolls and crashes his knee into the man’s ribs. Again. Again. His elbow finds its mark under a chin. He is harsh. Punishing. Accurate.

Desperate.

The man lets go and turns both fists towards Erik. They are both entangled on the floor. Fists collide with bones. Knees. Elbows. Rough. Ugly. Erik curls instinctively as claws pierce the carpet beside his head. Keep moving. Get up. Get the advantage.

He looks up at a wooden thud. Alex is at the door. Get out. Get out.

A fist snaps into his temple and his vision flickers. Spins. Muscles stutter. He blinks heavily. No. Move. Move. Move.

Erik swallows down the nausea and stumbles drunkenly to his knees.

Empty floor. Where. Not here. Look up. The man. Alex.

No.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex launches up from the floor and throws himself at the door. His shoulder throbs from the fall. Thud. He braces himself against the door, hands splayed.

Handle. Open. Get help. Save Dad.

A harsh breath behind him. His heart stops.

Schick. Thud.

Metal claws sink into the door, piercing the wood between his fingers and trapping his hand.

 

He does not dare to move.

 

His free arm is gripped roughly and pinned behind his back. The metal claws are yanked free with a sickening crack. His feet struggle for purchase, unbalanced, as he is dragged backwards. The claws rise into his line of sight, pausing menacingly in the air before moving against his throat. The man breathes heavily behind him. Air warm against his ear.

The blades brush against his skin.

He tries not to breathe.

His father breathes in sharply.

Dad. Kneeling on the ground, eyes struggling to focus. One hand outstretched. His face drained. Pale.

“Lehnsherr. Me. I’m Lehnsherr.” He gasps out.

“From what I can figure, so is he.” The man replies, tightening his grip on Alex’s arm.

The movement jars his shoulder and he cannot keep in a groan. The blades press tightly against his throat.

Erik’s gaze is more focused now. Alex sees him zero in sharply on a point just beside his head.

“You want something. I will give it to you. Anything. Let him go.” Erik speaks quietly. Urgently.

Fear.

This is what it looks like on his father.

 

A small buzz of static sounds by his ear and the faint echo of a voice follows. The silence is tense and Alex draws in a painfully slow breath, careful not to jostle the blades.

The man huffs out a single breath of annoyance.

“I have an old friend on the line. She was hoping you would say that."

 


	6. Chapter 6

Logan grits his teeth as Frost’s voice continues in his ear. She knew. She knew there would be a kid. Of course she has the nerve for such a dirty move. Of course it was a set up. Of course. Get your dog to do the dirty work but keep him blind and improvising. Great philosophy.

“ _Get him to his car_.”

His nostrils flare. Right. The job. Just roll with it. His ribs still twinge slightly from the beating Lehnsherr served him. The guy sure can aim a punch, he’ll give him that. He watches the man balance more steadily on his knees, his expression wary, his eyes once again sharp. Logan is at a loss. He is the muscle, Frost has made that pretty clear. Why is he in charge of diplomacy? The boy’s throat moves against his blades and Logan’s attention is redirected. He eases up a little.

A cleared throat in his ear gets the message across. He locks eyes with Lehnsherr.

“A mission. You’re going to complete it for them.” He sees the corner of Lehnsherr’s jaw protrude sharply as he clenches it. The man’s eyes dart between Logan and his son.

“What _kind_ of mission?” His voice is still forcibly calm. His eyes tell a different story. The resignation is too familiar.

“Does it matter?” Logan snaps.

It doesn’t. Not to Logan. Not anymore. He is a tool. Now Lehnsherr is too. This is not a choice. They will not allow him to fail.  

Lehnsherr lets his eyes close briefly. Logan sees him size up the distance between them. The odds. The blades. His son. He comes up short and Logan sees his frustration. His helplessness.

“They are tracing your car. Get into it. Go from there.”

Lehnsherr scowls at that. Logan knows the feeling well. The realization that everything has been orchestrated against you without your consent. Without your knowledge. Yeah. Not a comfort.

Logan forces the blades to retract into his hand, keeping a firm grip on the boy’s arm. He can feel a pulse thrumming quickly against his palm. He curls his other hand loosely around the boy’s neck. His hand closes over the red finger lines already emblazoned there. He grimaces and meets Lehnsherr’s eyes.

“He stays here. Do what they tell you and he stays alive.” If not…The thought leaves him cold. Blood-stained blonde hair. Empty eyes. A pale throat slit beneath his hands.

He has done it before.

His orders are clear. There are no parameters.

He looks right at Lehnsherr.

“Understand? If they tell me to, I will.”

 

* * *

 

Erik slams the driver’s door shut beside him. Knuckles white. Lips pressed tightly together. His head throbs.

He strikes out, punching the dashboard. Once. Twice. Pain slices through his knuckles and up his arm. This is a nightmare but he is not waking up. There is a ‘they’ pulling strings. Alex is still up there with that man. Erik has _left_ him with that man.

 

_“Alex.” He had no words to say. Words would not protect his son where his body had failed. His only hope was to convey as much love, as much reassurance as he could into one word. That and a final, hopeless plea to the man that held his whole life in his hands._

_“Please.” Don’t hurt him. Don’t do this. Don’t. “Please.”_

_And he left him there._

 

He stares out his windscreen. He wants to be back up there. Doing something. The skin on his knuckles stretches over bone. He aches. His glove box rings.

He wants to break something.

He answers and brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hello Erik.”

Emma Frost.

Emma Frost. His _therapist_. The voice that coaxed him through his panic attacks. The voice he clung to, slumped in her office, exhausted, after grueling physiotherapy sessions. A lifeline. A friend.

Who else?

His throat is tight and he cannot press any words through it. His mind tries to reassess. Realign. Is Armando involved? Has he been tracking Erik’s movements? God, he let him near Alex. He left him _alone_ with Alex. Raven? Testing a new part on him today of all days. Throwing him off balance. No. That one hurts too much to think about.

Emma’s voice breaks through again.

“Erik. It’s been some time since our last session. I have a new task for you that I think is really going to help with your recovery.”

She is calm, open. Exactly as he remembers. He feels dizzy. He has told her everything. Everything.

He fights to form a thought. Form a sound.

“What?” He manages to whisper.

“We are going to finish what Shaw started.”

He drops the phone, fumbles with the car door, shoves it open and throws up.

No. No. No. He is gone. He escaped. He is out.

He leans down, head level with his knee, breathing heavily. He focuses on the road. He reaches blindly for the phone on the seat behind him.

He cannot even say the name.

“He did this?” He chokes.

“Of course, Erik. Shaw is working for the military. His work is vital to national defense. You are a key part of that Erik.”

Everything is imploding. The military. Shaw. The source of his nightmares. The pain, the memories he has tried to bury. Caused by the people he dedicated his life to. Betrayal. He was free. He left it behind.

“I got out. You. _You_ …helped me get out.” His memories are distorting. Sliding into place like a guillotine. Emma, sympathetic, gentle, gathering intel after his ‘rescue’ from Shaw. The sudden availability of a job she had found. Something with Raven. A familiar face. Somewhere he could do some good.

Somewhere they could keep an eye on him.

“Oh Erik. You never left.” She replies.

Shaw.

He is going back to Shaw. It rushes at him like a tidal wave from within. Water. Darkness. The electricity. The injections. Agony. His _leg_.   

“No.” He whispers. Over and over. 

Emma cuts him off. Her voice is cold. “Logan. Cut the boy’s throat.”

“No! Don’t!” His fist hits the dashboard. His eyes blur with tears. “I’m here. I’m here. Where do I go?” He chokes on a sob. “Please. Don’t touch him.”

There is a deafening pause on the other end of the line before Emma’s voice breaks through. Hard and sharp. “Do not forget what is at stake Erik.”

Alex. This is the only way forward. The only way to save his son. He must do it.

“Understood.” He rasps.

“Good. Now, I need to you to pay Dr McCoy a visit.”

Erik murmurs his assent.

He drops his forehead into his hands. It is clammy to the touch. All he can think is he should have said goodbye to Alex. This is Shaw.

He should have said goodbye.

 


	7. Chapter 7

“Stay there.”

Alex sinks back into the couch cushions as the man finally puts some distance between them. His shoulder aches from the harsh hold and he tries to rotate it without moving too much, not wanting to draw the man’s attention back to him.

He looks up at the sound of the freezer door opening. The man is rummaging with both hands, carelessly tossing containers out onto the bench. He slams the door shut when he finds what he is looking for. Peas.

Alex considers making a run for it, to escape, as the man approaches him but there is nowhere to go and his limbs are heavy. The adrenaline is wearing off and he is feeling it now. The man comes to a stop, towering over him.

The peas are dropped into his lap.

“Alex. That’s your name?”

He nods automatically, eyeing the cold green packet resting on his knees.

“Put those on your neck.”

He looks up to meet the man’s eyes. He gets a raised eyebrow in response. Gingerly, he raises the makeshift ice pack to the side of his neck, exhaling slowly as the cold soothes the inflamed skin.

“Phone.” An outstretched hand moves into his vision.

Alex hesitates. Does he pretend not to have one on him? Duck low, try to dial three numbers before the man can catch him? He adjusts the peas against his throat. No. There is not really another option. From the look on the man’s face, he already knows that.

“There’s nobody to call kid. They’ll have an intercept order on the whole block by now. No way anyone is getting through to a real cop.”

Alex drops his phone into the open palm, admitting defeat. Who are these people?

The man wraps a hand around his phone before pocketing it. Nodding, he speaks again.

“Logan.” He raises an arm and Alex flinches. The man lowers it quickly, looking anywhere but Alex. “This could be a while. Might as well call me something.”

Alex tilts his head back, exposing more of his neck to the cold. The man, Logan, looks at his throat then finally back at him. Alex takes a deep breath. “Are they going to make my dad kill someone?”

“I have no idea kid.” Logan shakes his head before crossing his arms and moving to the window.

The frame is splintered where it was torn open. The table from below it lies in pieces on the other side of the room. The saucepan is upside down by the stove. There are three ragged holes in the front door and a dent in the plaster of the wall beside it.

The man turns his back, wide shoulders silhouetted by the fading light. He is alone here with the man who did all of this. The man that wrecked his house. That attacked his father. That threatened to kill him. 

He is alone and he has no idea where his father is.

 

* * *

  

Erik pulls in to the curb outside Hank’s apartment block. He turns the engine off and leans back against the headrest breathing slowly. A small transmitter is clipped to the underside of his collar. For all he knows Shaw could be listening on the other end. The thought makes his skin crawl. As though it is the man’s hand resting on his collar. Shaw is his very own nightmare and now he is helping him.

He steps out of the car.

 

_“The science doesn’t happen overnight.” Erik hissed. “McCoy can’t give Shaw his answers.”_

_“This didn’t start overnight Erik. It didn’t even start with you.” Emma replied, her voice measured and even. “Doctor McCoy has more promising information than we have ever had. He hasn’t told you everything. Get him to. That, I believe, is achievable overnight.”_

_He clenched his jaw. “And then you will let me speak to him?”_

_“There is a bug in your glove box. Put it on. I want to hear this.”_

_Erik reached over and snatched the small box._

_“And then you may speak to him.” Emma answered, followed by a harsh dial tone._

Erik knocks on the faded green door. He has only been to Hank’s hole in the wall apartment a couple of times for after hours project prep. Hank’s is the closest house to work out of the R & D team. He feels thrown without the shuffle of papers and the lively chatter of his team. He has never felt so alone out in this hallway.

The door is pulled open and Hank appears, eyes round and confused behind thick glasses.

“Erik?” He asks, adjusting an oversized cardigan on his shoulder. “What…?”

“I need to come in.” Erik cuts him off, edging forward.

“Right. Of course.” Hank stumbles back, flustered.

Erik strides inside, taking up residence at the small round dining table that is practically on top of Hank’s couch. A laptop whirrs on one side of the table and papers and hand scrawled notes litter the entire surface. Screws and washers peek out from between the papers. He is not surprised to see a microscope next to the kettle on the kitchen bench.

“Is there a reason you needed to… come in?”

“The results you showed me this morning. There’s more. What haven’t you told me?” He doesn’t even care what it is. Doesn’t care that Hank has not shared it with him. Alex. He just wants to hear him. Hear he is alright.

Hank goes bright red and cannot meet Erik’s eyes. “I...I don’t…”

Erik raises a hand. “You work through things on your own, Hank. I already know that. Just tell me what you found. All of it.” He ducks his head to meet Hank’s eyes. “Hank. Please.”

Hank shifts in his cardigan again and adjusts his glasses. “Ok. Ok, it’s just…I didn’t tell anyone because the science…it could be used for something...” Hank gestures with his hands searching for the word.

“Bad.” Erik finishes and Hank nods. He reaches for his notes on the table and Erik turns his back and tries not to throw up again.

“The cells that failed, they don’t connect to the old cells because they aren’t the same material but they do connect to something else. A couple of months ago a scientist in the Department of Defense got in contact. He said there was interest in funding our limb reconstruction projects but they wanted to see what we could do first. He sent me some samples. Blood samples. Possible catalysts. I…” Hank runs a hand through his hair.

Erik rubs a hand down his face, breathing shallowly. “ _Oh Erik. You never left._ ”

“He said it had to be confidential. For national security. I know I should have told you but I wanted to see what I could do with it. I mean, if I could make living cells connect to artificial material just imagine…” Hank cuts himself off, peering up at Erik over his glasses.

“His name. What was his name?” Erik whispers.

“He only gave me a last name. Schmidt.”

Schmidt. The name Shaw used to introduce himself to Erik. Schmidt. His superior. Before the trap. The explosion. The shrapnel in his leg. The face looming above him, strapped down to a table. The face that revealed itself as Shaw. Shaw his true face, Schmidt the imposter. No. Apparently sanctioned by the military. Sent by them. To put Erik through hell. The injections. The needles going in until his veins were on fire and he thought he must be burning too.

Needles. Has Hank been experimenting on his blood? Is he the subject?

“Erik! Are you alright? Sit down.”

He lets Hank help him into a chair, dropping his face into his hands. He cannot look at the scientist.

“What did you find?” He grits out.

He does not want to know.

He needs to.

Hank hesitates before continuing. “One of the metal samples, it has properties unlike anything I have worked with before. Enhanced tensile strength, incredibly stable and the cells in the sample he sent had already been shown to bond with it. Erik, they could attach living cells to this metal!”

Erik nods absently. Whose cells? Why?

“They could only get the immediate tissue to attach though and they could regenerate, healing themselves but only in a very limited area. So the body could accommodate the metal but only a small amount.”

Like claws. Oh god. Erik’s fists are clenched and trembling.

“But the other sample he sent. It reacted differently. It didn’t attach to the metal, the cells that came in contact with it in its liquid form…they changed.”

Erik looks up. “Changed?”

“They mutated Erik. Like cells exposed to radiation except they absorbed the metal, worked it into the cell structure. Not all the cells, but enough to make a pattern. Then… I can’t explain it, I have never seen anything like it. I couldn’t get any further readings with my equipment. Something was blocking it. A magnetic field.”

Erik stands abruptly 

“I didn’t tell them. I mean, how could I? This is crazy stuff. And I realize I made a huge mistake but I didn’t know what to do so I tried to tell you this morning but I didn’t know how and…”

“Thank you, Hank. I don’t think it matters anyway.” Erik cuts in. He rests both palms on the table. He has to get out. Get to Alex. Get them both far away from Shaw. Instead he is going towards him armed with the information to help him create…something. Something beyond human.

His fingers cover one of the loose screws on the table and he curls them back, catching it in the crease of his palm. He has to go. He turns for the door.

Hank calls after him, hanging back hesitantly, grasping his papers. A mirror image of this morning’s nerves. “Erik wait! Are you sure you’re ok? Why did you need to see me?”

Erik keeps his back turned, slipping the screw into his pocket. “I had to know for sure Hank. Thank you for being honest.” The words are clipped. His shoulders tense.

“I’m sorry.” Hank offers.

“I know.”

Erik closes the door behind him and descends the stairs to his car. He slumps into the driver’s seat.

In his pocket, the phone rings.

He fumbles in his haste to answer, hands slick with sweat.

“Yes?”

“Well done Erik.” Emma’s calm grates on him.

“Alex.” He snaps.

“Call his phone.” She hangs up.

He rushes through the familiar number sequence and grips the phone tightly by his ear. Each ring makes his heart beat faster.

“Dad?”

“Alex.” The air rushes from his lungs in relief.

“Dad!” Alex’s anxious voice echoes loudly in his ear. “Are you hurt? Whatever they are making you do. You don’t have to.”

That brings a sad smile to his face. “Yes, I do.”

Alex is silent.

An awful thought springs up, unbidden. “Has he hurt you?”

There is a pause. “No. He gave me peas. Did you know we had those in the freezer?”

Erik clamps down on a laugh. Or a sob. He can’t tell the difference. 

“I’m sorry Alex. I’m so sorry.”

“I know Dad.” There is another pause. “He’s telling me to hang up.”

No. Not yet.

“I love you Dad.” Alex murmurs.

“I love you too.” Erik closes his eyes. “Goodbye.”

He gets the dial tone in response.

He drops his hand down and stares at the phone sitting in his palm. He startles when the phone rings again, breaking the silence. He is slower to answer this time. Dreading the voice on the other end.

“Touching.” Emma comments dryly.

Erik looks down at his collar. His skin prickles and he wants to tear off the fabric.

Emma’s voice comes through the line again.

“Head in to your office. We have work to do.”

 

* * *

 

Armando drags his feet up the apartment stairwell. His eyes are tired and he swears the security footage has been burned onto his eyes. He will probably see it in his sleep tonight. This better help him see something he missed.

He pauses at his floor, he should drop his things home first. Erik always gets weird when he has his gun with him. But today was a Stair Day and he needs to check they are ok for himself. He heads on up the next flight and pulls a brown paper bag from his shoulder bag. A donut for Alex. He does not understand why Alex is so keen on the donuts from the station. There are plenty of better ones practically anywhere else in the city. He says the cliché adds a special something to the taste.

He reaches the door to Alex and Erik’s apartment and frowns.

There are three jagged holes in the wood. They look like they go right through. He drops his free hand to his waist, to rest on the clip of his holster.

The paper bag jostles in his hand as he uses it to knock sharply.

Once. Twice. Three times.

 


	8. Chapter 8

Alex startles at the first knock. By the second, Logan has a hand clamped firmly over his mouth, pinning him to the couch. Alex breathes heavily through his nose. He does not dare move.

“Hello? Alex?”

Armando. The voice is a comfort. Something so completely normal. He is just outside the door. It might as well be a mile. There is another knock on the door. This one more urgent.

“Erik?”

A sickening, mechanical noise draws his attention. Metal claws are just beginning to pierce the skin of Logan’s hand. Small droplets of blood well around the silver points. No. Alex shakes his head as much as he can under Logan’s hand. The man meets his eyes, narrowed and tense.

“You get rid of him them.” He breathes. The hand is removed and Alex feels a rush of blood back across his face. He gulps in a breath, steadying himself before calling out.

“I’m coming!”

He stands and walks slowly towards the door. Logan shadows his steps, stopping at the wall beside the doorframe. Alex glances at him. All tensed muscle, claws slowly lengthening. Logan raises an eyebrow and Alex unlocks the door.

He is greeted by Armando’s raised arm, an oily paper bag held out in offering.

“Finally!” His neighbour grins. 

Alex forces his mouth to mimic the movement. He knows he has failed when Armando’s own smile falters. Armando takes a step forward, his expression turning to one of concern. Alex shifts back further into the shadow of the door.

“Is your dad home? He said he didn’t need a lift.” Alex cannot meet his eyes, too aware of the claws now resting a few inches from his ribs.

“Yeah. His car got fixed.” He says to the floor. Belatedly, he reaches out for the bag still dangling in the air. “Thanks.” Realizing he has not answered the question, he quickly adds “He’s not here.”

Armando nods absently, still trying to catch Alex’s eye.

“Did something happen? Do you want to come down to mine for dinner?”

Alex wants to leap out the front door. He is so close. This is Darwin. He is safe. Family. But he has seen Logan in action. The man could kill them both. He cringes when the sharp point of Logan’s claw jabs his hip.

“Alex. Talk to me.”

Alex looks up. Darwin’s face is so open. He wants to cry. Gripping the bag tightly in his fist, he nods and then tilts his head, gesturing inside.

“Thanks for this. I’ll talk to you later. I’d better…” He moves to close the door, to seal himself in once again.

Armando’s arm shoots out, lightning fast, bracing the door before he can close it. His other arm reaches out, gently cupping around Alex’s neck.

“Alex. Who did this?” His voice is unfamiliar. Angry. Broken. Alex flinches at his touch.

The bruises. Oh god. Words escape him. There is no mistaking they are finger marks. He feels paralyzed. No lie is forthcoming. There is nothing he can do.

Logan seems to know it too.

Alex feels himself yanked backwards. Logan’s hand clamps around his wrist and he gasps from the pain. Struggling to pull himself free only tightens the grip.

“Let go. Now.”

Alex looks up from his place beside Logan, his arm held between them, and sees Armando standing front on, gun drawn and face stony.

Logan sighs.

“I don’t reckon that’s gonna do you much good pal.” He states, staring Armando down.

Alex feels his heart thumping frantically. He yanks on his arm, forcing Logan to look at him. He hisses through the pain of his bones grinding against each other.  

“Alex. Look at me.” Armando calls out. His voice is calm and Alex is drawn to it. He shouldn’t be here. Armando should be safely downstairs with his squishy couch and his goldfish. Armando should not be here.

“Alex. Is there anyone else here?” Armando asks, eyes never leaving Alex’s.

No. He has no idea where his Dad is or what he is doing or if he is okay. All he knows is that he said goodbye like it might be the last time.

Alex shakes his head.

Logan growls, drops his wrist and lunges forwards.

Armando fires.

 

* * *

 

Clang!

Logan swipes the bullet aside as it cuts through the air. The blades from his fist spark at the impact. He barrels into the newcomer but the man rolls with the impact and ducks around him.

Logan backs up and rounds on the man. He has taken up position in front of Alex, arms taut behind the gun, shielding the boy with his body. He fires two more bullets at Logan, each cut down before they reach their target, and Logan is on him. A shoulder to the gut sends the gun clattering away. He blocks a jab aiming for his temple but takes a harsh kick to the knee.

The man stumbles as Logan's elbow connects with his jaw. He is still between Logan and Alex. Swaying but determined. This needs to end. Now.

He lands another heavy blow to the man’s cheek and uses the disorientation to bodily lift the other man, throwing him into the wall below the window. The man crumples, groaning. Logan moves quickly, retrieving the gun from behind him. He raises the barrel, walking towards the fallen man. The neighbours have already heard the gunshots. What is one more? No parameters. Eliminate the threat. 

The man looks up, eyes widening.

He is not looking at the gun. He is looking in horror at Alex who has thrown himself between them. He is blocking the man. His arm outstretched, palm inches from the barrel.

“Don’t.” Alex begs. “Please don’t.”

The kid’s hand is shaking but he is looking right at Logan.

The man is desperately trying to pull himself up, grasping at Alex’s shoulder. His eyes are locked onto Logan’s hands like he thinks he will kill Alex. He realizes with a start that the evidence is all there. On Alex’s throat, in his terrified stare. Killing Alex is not part of the mission. Not yet. But the other man…Killing him falls within his orders.

Killing is always a part of his mission.

There is a kid begging him not to.

He is a tool to be used. A gun to be pointed. A dog on a leash. He is many things. In this moment he can choose exactly what he is.

He looks down into terrified, determined eyes. Right now, he does not want to be a killer.

The gun dips.

His earpiece buzzes. Brief as always.

“ _Bring him in_.”

Orders. Nothing about the situation at hand. He can choose.

He can choose.

He realizes he already has.

He looks past the gun. At Alex.

“We’re leaving. You come with me quietly, get in the car downstairs and I leave him up here. Alive.”

Alex is nodding and scrambling to his feet.

The man behind him has made it to his knees.

“No.” He groans. “Alex, no.”

Logan brings the gun down swiftly on his temple and the man drops to ground again. Alex makes a noise of protest and reaches for the fallen man but Logan grabs his elbow harshly.

“We agreed. Let’s go.”

Alex glares at him but allows himself to be pulled out the door with one final glance back inside.

Logan clocks the steady rise and fall of the man’s chest before guiding Alex towards the stairwell.

“Thank you.” The boy whispers beside him.

Logan’s brow furrows. He does not know how to categorize his decision. He has no justification for it. It did not make the mission easier. It did not make it harder.

He just knows he made a choice.

 

He does not regret it.

 

* * *

 

 Erik steps out of the elevator, knuckles clenched, jaw tight.

The testing lab stretches out before him. This morning’s test seems like a lifetime ago. The calming greys and sharp angles of the benches only make his skin crawl, reminding him of pain and helplessness rather than the order and routine he has finally established.

Emma Frost is waiting for him.

The screw’s tip sends a sharp strike of pain into his palm when he clenches it tighter.

Emma gestures to a chair positioned beside a bench in the middle of the room.

“Have a seat, Erik.” She invites.

He bites his tongue and walks to his execution.

Screwdrivers and compasses are spread haphazardly on the bench nearby. Raven never leaves her tools in a mess. She has too much respect for her craft. A spare sheet of paper has found its way onto the spotless floor.

It is fitting that even the familiar workroom is not as it should be.

Nothing is.

He lowers himself into the chair, forcing his arms down against the arm rests. He allows Emma to secure zip ties around his wrists. There are too many variables. He has to wait. He has to know more.

Until he does, he is trapped.

“I got you your information. Where is my son?” He stares straight ahead as Emma circles. A meticulously kempt vulture.

“Oh, he’ll be along shortly. Don’t worry.” She soothes. “We have a few things to do first.”

“No!” He jerks against the restraints. “I did what you asked. You let him go.” The bend of the chair is awkward for his left leg. He feels off balance.

“We let him live.” Emma corrects.

They both look up as the elevator doors slide open. A woman enters, acknowledging Emma behind him.

Behind her is Sebastian Shaw.

He locks eyes with Erik.

He is grinning.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Erik’s breath stutters. Shaw strides calmly towards him, at ease, unhurried. Just like before. His grin is the same. His eyes tear through Erik’s skin and he is exposed. He is back _there_ again.

When Shaw slides up beside him he cannot meet his eyes. Fingers ghost along his arm, light like spider’s legs. Erik flinches hard enough to dislodge them.

“All this time, Erik. All this time and I was so close.” His voice is barely a whisper but Erik could pinpoint it from the corner of a dark room. He is breathing faster. He can feel the blood thrumming through his veins, so strongly, so desperately he may burst.

“I knew I placed my bets right on you.” He laughs. Proud, gleeful. “Liquid form. Can you believe it?”

Erik silently clenches and unclenches his jaw.

“We never tried it. Never tried it straight into the bloodstream.” Shaw tilts his head and looks down appraisingly. “I was sure it would kill you and that was never my intention.”

His hand reaches down. “You reacted so badly when we first introduced it.” His hand lands on Erik’s knee. His left knee.

The pain, ripping through his leg. The numbness. The loss. Erik cannot stand it.

“Don’t.” His voice is not loud but there is enough venom there to bring another smile to Shaw’s face.

“What a wonderful happenstance. To change you, to improve you…” Shaw leans down, eyes sharp and alight, drinking in Erik’s defeat. “…I have to get to your heart, Erik.”

An insistent beep draws his attention. Emma nods at the newly arrived woman. She enters something into her phone and turns to the door expectantly.

Erik stares straight ahead. Shoulders curled forwards, blocking Shaw from his periphery. Shaw leans in closer.

“Of course, we are not alone this time.”

The elevator pings.

Alex is led into the room.

 

* * *

 

The first thing he sees is his father strapped to a chair in the middle of the room. He is alive. Alive and awake. He steps towards him but is brought up short by Logan’s grip on his shoulder. He fights against it as he meets his father’s eyes across the room. He looks wrecked.

“Dad!”

He looks back at Logan but Logan is not looking at him. His gaze is fixed on the man standing next to his dad. His grip on Alex’s shoulder tightens to a vice but he does not seem to notice. 

Logan is breathing raggedly behind him. His head snaps to glare at a woman further into the room. Alex is shocked to realize he knows her. Emma. Dad’s therapist. What kind of set up is this?

Logan comes to life. His words barely contained below a shout. “Shaw? Am I working for Shaw?”

Shaw. Alex renews his struggle against Logan’s grip. He has not heard everything from his Dad but he has heard enough. He has to do something. He can’t leave his dad alone with the man from his nightmares.

His movements are ignored as Logan glares at Emma, awaiting an answer.

“You work for me Logan.” Her lip twists. “And I work for him. So do your  _job_.” She finishes coldly. “We are making history and you are a part of it.”

“And I never know it until it’s too late.” Logan growls under his breath.

His other hand grabs Alex’s arm and he drags him closer to Erik and Shaw, pulling him up beside one of the steel benches.

He tries to catch his father’s eye but he looks straight ahead. Shoulders lowered and eyes hollow. It is only the shallow movement of his chest that lets Alex know he is alive.

“Dad. Please look at me.” He begs.

Shaw spins around slowly. “Ah, this must be Alex.” His stare fixes on Alex as he takes measured steps towards him. His footfalls echo through the space of the room. Alex suddenly feels like prey.

“Your father is very special. So I have to wonder…” Shaw stops beside Alex, forcing him to turn his head away from his father to keep him in view. “...What kind of genes you share with him.” His lips thin out into a shallow grin and he strikes like a snake.

Alex sees nothing for a moment as his head is slammed down onto the bench. Tools scatter and fall to the floor with loud clangs. A cold hand keeps his cheek pinned there and another presses down onto his back. He forgets to breathe.

“No!” His father’s voice roars. “You don’t get to touch him.”

The bench is cold against his face and his skin is crawling as Shaw’s hand makes its way up along his spine.

He can hear the satisfaction in the man's voice as he speaks. Loud and mocking. “Ah, there you are Erik! I’ve missed you.”

One hand still presses into his spine and the other slides down to his face. Long fingers brush against his cheek but the grip is so strong he has nowhere to move.

His father’s voice cuts through again. Shaky but determined. “I’m right here, Shaw. You’ve waited long enough. So finish this.”

He feels breath close to his face and closes his eyes against it. “Another time then, Alex.” The hands disappear and he pushes himself up on shaky limbs. He tries to back away from the table but his back hits a body and there is nowhere to go. He glances quickly behind at Logan. The man looks uneasy but below that, he is angry.

“Moira.” Shaw summons, holding out a hand. She approaches him with a small case. He opens it gently and retrieves a syringe filled with a marbled silver liquid. “You are right Erik. It has been long enough. Let’s find out what my faith in you has earned.”

As Shaw approaches, Erik meets Alex’s eyes. He smiles sadly but cannot hold it for long. No. No! Alex lunges forwards. He does not get more than a foot before Logan’s arms are wrapping tightly around his torso, holding him back.

“No!” He fights but he cannot move. Cannot reach his father.

Shaw plunges the syringe straight into Erik’s heart.

The scream his father releases fills the entire room. Alex’s heart breaks. 

 

* * *

 

His chest is breaking open. On fire. Freezing. Burning. Crushed. His head is thrown back as he tries to drag in breath. One of the roof tiles is crooked. He has never noticed before.

The edges of his vision swim black and now everything is crooked.

His insides are clawing their way out, his bones no longer feel solid. His body is a battleground and both sides are losing. There is screaming. It does not sound like his voice. Reaching out he finds only the arms of the chair. There is something beyond his grasp. Something calling to him. His fingers reach out again, hands straining into nothing. His body convulses. If he can just reach…

Something shifts within. The screw feels weightless against his palm.

His chest is not caving anymore, each pump of blood inflates it anew. He feels alight all the way to the tips of his toes. On both feet. His hands grasp something now. Something beyond the air. He feels a pull.

Around him, the room sings.

 

* * *

 

Alex hangs limply as his father arches in the chair and screams himself raw. It is agony to watch. It must be more than agony to feel. His face is hot as tears run down it. Is he watching his father die?

His eyes are locked to Erik’s chest. It rises and falls, stuttering and heaving. His hands are reaching. Reaching for nothing. For a hand that he cannot offer. Erik's back slumps heavily against the chair and Alex waits desperately.

There! A breath. A steady breath. Alex tries to match his breaths to his father’s. To calm his racing heart. Another breath. Another.

A metallic rattle breaks his concentration and all eyes in the room are drawn to the bench beside Erik’s chair.

The tools are rising from their perches. Hovering an inch above the bench top. Hovering. On their own. Alex’s eyes trace back to Erik’s outstretched hand. It is straining towards the bench.

Shaw takes a step backwards, taking in the sight.

His face lights up.

“Interesting.”

 


	10. Chapter 10

A discordant chorus of metal on metal rings out as wrenches, screwdrivers, scalpels and pens all clatter back onto the benches. A lone screwdriver rolls over the lipless edge and impacts loudly with the floor. It lies, unmoving where it has fallen.

Alex watches the shallow breaths rattling through his father’s chest with trepidation. Erik’s body lies limply in the chair, his eyes closed and his face pale.

Shaw circles the chair slowly, deliberately. The expression on his face is one of pure, giddy delight. Alex’s stomach clenches painfully as Shaw leans in closer. Face inches above Erik’s. His father is hurt and vulnerable and Shaw is drinking it all in. He wants to do something, stand between them, but the sharp bloom of pain across his face keeps him rooted to the spot. Shaw could strike out in a split second and Erik is defenseless beneath his hands.

Shaw reaches out to trace the raised lines of veins on the back of Erik’s hand.

“What power I have given you.” His voice is quiet and awed. “All this time. The potential, right here in your body.” He steps back. An artist regarding his masterpiece.

“I have set it free.”

His blue-eyed stare cuts through the air and lands on Alex. Piercing through him where he stands. His head tilts, taking in every inch of him. Alex’s chest constricts, his breathing grows thin. His father’s nightmares of dark places and pain with no end and hands that seek only to tear him apart…

Alex sees them all in the man stalking towards him.

“Alex, I don’t believe we have been properly introduced.” Shaw speaks lightly. He descends on Alex. His steady steps carry him with deceptive pace. Alex tries to back away but there is nowhere to go. His back collides with Logan.

“No. No.” He pushes back against the man, searching for some give. An escape. He is a wall and there is no weakness.

Shaw reaches out a hand, fingers just touching the curve of Alex’s chin.

No. No. No. Don’t touch me. Don’t be here. Don’t do this.

“No!”

A voice that is not his own steals Shaw’s attention. He stops, hand falling slowly away from Alex’s face.

“No.” Logan’s voice cuts in again. Low and steady.

Alex stumbles backwards as the strong presence behind him gives way. Logan steps around him, claws sliding out.

He stands between Shaw and Alex.

 

* * *

 

There is a new tension in the room and Emma shares a quick glance with Moira in her periphery. Her companion is tense but gives little visible sign of it. A slight twist of her right heel, a tightening of her lips. Emma is well versed in reading beyond the surface. With Shaw it is always a tedious task.

Here he is, a vicious child with a brand new toy. The barrier that now stands between him and his prize only makes him more dangerous.

“Logan.” His voice is condescending. “You are no longer worthy of my attention.” He gestures back behind him at Erik’s slack form. “You have been surpassed.”

Shaw is a cruel master. His words are poison but Logan has not been Shaw’s puppet for many years. Emma allows herself a small smile. Not Shaw’s puppet. Hers.

Logan’s claws glint as he twists them in the fluorescent light. “Back off.” He is terse and ready for a fight. “You‘ve done enough. This _kid_ is not an option.”

Shaw scoffs in mock offence. “All my hard work. Look at what I made you.” He gestures broadly at Logan, unconcerned by the blades brandished near his face. “Nothing was easy with you. I had to build you from scratch and even now you are just an afterthought in my legacy. You are just the experiment I made you but this, this is creation.”

Emma bites her tongue to keep in a groan. Moira is not so restrained beside her. She can indulge Shaw his moment but she senses it is coming to an end. The boy takes another small step backwards into Logan’s protective shadow. His terror shows on his face. She reaches into her pocket. She does not have time for Shaw’s posturing.

“The value you hold lies in the resource I stored in you.” Shaw continues, finally acknowledging the claws in such close proximity to his throat. “You are a deposit box. Nothing more.”

“I won’t let you make him like me.” Logan spits.

Emma sees the tension coil in his shoulders, sees the control about to snap and silently curses Shaw for blundering in and breaking what is hers. What she has made hers with patience and time and words and _effort_.

But she is still a chess player and this is her pawn.

“I am sorry, James.” She offers to the angry, broken weapon across the room. He spares her a brief glance, his rage finally breaking back through to the surface.

He lashes out, claws slicing through the air. Shaw is twisting aside, slipping out of reach like oil but Emma is already activating the small device in her hand.

Logan’s attack stutters and halts. His hand raised, frozen in its arc. A river of silver trickles from his tear ducts.

His eyes search wildly before they find hers. His expression is not one of betrayal.

It is one of peace.

 

* * *

 

Logan stops. A cold, paralyzing ache spreads inside his head. His limbs collapse beneath him. His eyes shutter closed, blinded by a layer of something thicker than tears.

The floor is cold against his side but it feels more like home than anything has in longer than he can remember. This darkness is not terrifying. It is not unknown.

It is a place where he can rest.

He made a decision and it was his and no one else’s. Rage bleeds out of him and he does not think of Shaw or Frost or pain and blades that tear his knuckles to shreds.

He thinks of the satisfaction of choice.

It is not the worst feeling to leave with.

 

* * *

 

Emma swallows heavily. She will allow herself that. Every weapon has an off switch. It is an inevitable outcome. She looks away from the body on the floor. One more mess she will have to clean up.

Shaw steps over the still form before him, straightens his jacket and proceeds towards the boy with a callous shake of his head. Alex is frozen to the spot, fully exposed to Shaw’s advance, staring at Logan’s body in horror.

She looks away from them, she cannot be distracted. Shaw is drawn by shiny things but her focus must remain on the main event. It is still in progress, unconscious in the nearby chair.

Except that it is not.

A metallic symphony announces the change in situation.

Erik is already tearing through the second wrist tie when Emma’s gaze lands on him and before she can breathe a word he is propelling himself across the room.

Shaw turns sharply but he is not fast enough to counter Erik’s momentum. Erik collides heavily with Shaw, arms wrapping quickly, desperately around his neck and drawing him into a chokehold.

A small screw protrudes from his grip, pressed tightly against Shaw’s jugular.

Erik’s teeth are bared in a savage betrayal of the toll the sudden movement has taken on his body. He is shaking slightly and leaning heavily on Shaw but his arms trap his tormenter’s neck in a death grip.

Emma follows Erik’s wild stare to Alex, standing stunned a few feet from his father.

If she has learned anything from Shaw’s methods over the years, it is this: There is nothing more dangerous than a man with something precious to lose.

And Shaw has given Erik power that only increases that drive. Increases his danger.

Shaw, with his clumsy fingers, prodding at weakness and stabbing in the dark does not know how to harness that power.

Emma though, she has some ideas.


	11. Chapter 11

Erik tries to keep the room in focus. It keeps dipping up and down but his head isn’t moving. It is too much. A harsh tugging to the left. He feels unbalanced but nothing is holding him down. His own breath is ragged and loud, overwhelming the rush of blood in his ears. The thrum of Shaw’s heartbeat is steady and unhurried in the throat beneath his hand.

Everything feels wrong. He leans even more heavily on Shaw, stomach recoiling in disgust at the contact but limbs rebelling, heavy and trembling against any adrenaline he has left.

Control. He has to take control. Alex is standing next to the man’s body. His dead body.

He turns to Emma. Her eyes are hard. It could be sadness. It could be satisfaction. She has just killed a man. But he has leverage. He pushes harder on the screw, Shaw coughs out a laugh.

“Alex. He leaves. Now.” Erik squeezes his eyes shut against the dizziness and when he opens them Emma's face is carefully blank.

Shaw speaks now. Giddy and unafraid. “You think I could let this go? Erik, I just created something incredible. _We_ did.”

The humming is back, in the back of his head, spreading with a gentle heat.

The claws of the dead man’s body lift in a horrifying facsimile of a wave. Alex stumbles back in alarm, Shaw’s pulse spikes and Erik knows, he knows. This is him. He is moving a dead man’s hand. He is moving metal.

“Feel it Erik.” Shaw croons. “Don’t you want this for him too?”

He shuts out the humming and the clawed hand hits the ground like a shattering glass in the silence.

“Don’t look at him!” Erik spits, twisting their bodies away. “Alex.” He throws a quick glance over his shoulder and makes eye contact with his son. "Go." It is not much. Barely a plan but if it is just the people in this room...If it is only them that know then there is a chance. There is nowhere he can offer as a safe place. Nobody he can offer that he can trust. But anywhere is safer for his son, anywhere but here.

He is fading quickly and it hurts to look right at Alex, at the fear and love strong in his eyes.

“You can’t go to…Don’t go to Raven.” He has trusted her with his life but he does not know. He cannot _know_ and it is Alex and he has to know. “Not Darwin either. You can’t…”

“Darwin’s at our house.” Alex mumbles numbly. “He tried to stop him.” He gestures at the body on the ground before him. Alex is staring at the dead man and Erik wants to shake him because he shouldn’t be seeing that, he shouldn’t be here and he needs Alex to _move_.

Emma lifts her gun. He sees it rise in his periphery, feels it hum under his skin now that he knows it is there.

“He stays.” she states firmly.

 

* * *

 

Emma keeps her grip loose but steady. She turns her aim towards Alex, there is no one blocking her shot now, He is exposed.

“No!” Erik rasps. He is swaying in place and she knows he is fading. He jabs the screw angrily against Shaw’s neck. “Alex leaves or I kill him.”

“As easily as I can kill Alex.” She reminds him.

Erik’s glare fixes intently on her gun and his body shakes with tension. In front of him, Shaw laughs at the realisation of what he is trying to do.

“Don’t hurt yourself Erik.” He mocks.

Erik breaks eye contact with her gun and growls in frustration. Emma watches his shoulders slump. He is not strong enough. Not yet. Shaw has changed Erik but she can elevate him. Improve him. Like she has done with Shaw.

Shaw meets her eyes. His euphoria undimmed by his position. All the reckless experiments, the broken toys, the broken men. He has finally succeeded. He has created his masterpiece. This is his handiwork.

It does not matter.

He is just one artist and Emma, well, she is a collector.

She smiles. “Ok.”

A gunshot rings out. A bullet tears across the room.

She feels a quick tug at her gun. Not enough to tear it from her grasp. Just enough to be a desperate father trying too late to stop her from firing.

Except it is not her gun that is down a bullet.

Moira stands in a firing stance beside her. Her gun is raised and the air is rippling around the barrel in the aftermath of her shot.

Shaw slumps forward in Erik’s grasp. An ugly bullet hole in his temple.

She nods at Moira without turning away from her target. Her gun remains pointed at Alex and she slides her gaze over to Erik.

“Now, let’s find out what you can really do.”


	12. Chapter 12

The gun is light in her grip. Small enough for her to comfortably wrap her fingers around. Her other hand grips Alex’s elbow, fingers carving grooves into the skin there. They will bruise but she has other things on her mind.

Emma glances over her shoulder as they pass through the lab’s threshold and into the elevator bay. Moira flanks her on the left and stumbling behind her is Erik. Without Shaw to lean on he sways dangerously. His skin is taut and bloodless under the fluorescent lights. He leans heavily on the doorframe, mouth moving slightly but lacking the energy to make a sound.

She tightens her grip on the gun. It will not be useful for long. There is no way to gage how powerful he is right now. The tug she felt minutes ago is certainly an indication but not enough to know. She has to find out.

She turns back to face the elevators. Alex pulls to a stop beside her, arm tugging against her grip, eyes fixed back the way they have come. On the two bodies visible through the door. On his father fighting to stay upright.

“Moira,” she motions, “Do you have control of…?”

“Of course.” Moira cuts her off. “I just called it. I take it you want a full…”

“Of course.” Emma mimics, a small smile easing onto her lips.

Control. It is a precious commodity and one that she deals so well in. Moira’s efficiency is a welcome addition to her process. She spares a quick nod of acknowledgement as the elevator doors open before her.

Time to prove she has surpassed Shaw. That she can harness his raw discovery. His creation. Time to move out from under his shadow. For all his manipulations and ambition it is her who is still standing. As a tribute she will even indulge in a little of his treasured theatrics.

After all, this is a special moment.

 

* * *

 

Alex’s breath catches when his father sinks to his knees in the lab doorway. He watches his legs crumple while his arms barely break his fall.

“Dad!” Erik barely glances up at the call. His shoulders are shuddering with painful breaths and Alex has to be there. He has to be there to help his father pull himself together again. Nobody should see him like this. Alone. Exposed.

A sharp tug on his elbow brings him back around to Emma. She does not spare him a glance as she steers him into the small box of the elevator.

“Wait here Alex.” Her tone is clipped as she directs him to the far corner of the space. The gun in her hand does not waver and she is standing so close the barrel is almost touching his skin.

Quicker than he can react she has snapped a metal ring around his wrist and is leaning across to secure it to the railing attached to the elevator walls. Click. Handcuffs. He tugs against the binding out of reflex but all he gets is a sharp pain as the links pull taut.

He looks up angrily but Emma is already exiting the elevator. Her back is to him and he has been forgotten.

“Erik.” She speaks louder than necessary, snagging his father’s drifting attention. “This project has been in progress for a very long time and I need a result.” She paces forwards, bearing down on Erik’s hunched figure. “If I leave this at Shaw’s wild experiments then everything we have accomplished will be rejected, unsanctioned.” Her brow furrows for a moment before she carefully adjusts her expression. “But if I give the Department something useful. A weapon. Then this is legitimized. A sanctioned trial. And a success.”

She stands only a couple of feet from Erik. His eyes are raised to meet hers. “I don’t have the time to coax it out of you Erik. This isn’t one of our sessions.” Her lips press together in a cruel line. “Don’t forget that you still have something to lose.” She steps aside and Alex can see his father unobstructed. He tugs again on the handcuffs. There is nowhere to go and too much distance between them.

Emma leans down, her words firm.

“I need you to do one more thing for me Erik. I need you to stop this elevator.”

 

* * *

 

Erik claws his way out of a haze. His limbs are heavy, beyond his power to control. Like mud is sucking him downwards. Shaw. Shaw is dead. He was breathing, his skin warm beneath Erik’s hand and now he is dead on the ground. The moment he has allowed himself to imagine only in the darkest throws of his nightmares. Or maybe his dreams. Shaw is dead. But this is not a dream.

He pulls himself up through the humming around him, from his leg, through the throbbing in his head, into the room his world has narrowed to. To Frost and her gun and her words that burn him. To Alex.

“I need you to stop this elevator.”

Alex is struggling frantically now and Erik recognizes the desperation. He felt it in the dark with Shaw. In their apartment when the man’s claws were at Alex’s throat.

He sees it in the harsh red lines appearing at his son’s wrist, in his terrified eyes.

Most of all he feels it in his own weary, aching chest because he understands what she means. She is asking the impossible. She is asking and he must do it. He has to. Or Alex will die.

He does not plead for her to stop. He has said please enough today. It has fallen on deaf ears. She turns away from him and he fixes his eyes on Alex. On his terrified, struggling son and lets the floodgates open.

The humming is in his head, behind his eyes, travelling all the way down his left leg. It feels electric on his fingertips. He lets it take over until it is more than humming, more than a roar. Until it is a symphony.

“Drop it, Moira.” Emma’s voice cuts through. A blade severing his calm.

There is a terrible wrenching, breaking, snapping sound and he feels it in his core.

The elevator drops from sight.

Alex screams.

There is an empty space where the elevator used to be.

Erik leaps for it.


	13. Chapter 13

Crack. His knees crash hard into the tiles. His body shudders with the impact. His arms reach out, grasping nothing. Nothing. Nothing. There. A sharp tug deep in his stomach. He grabs hold of it. Grabs hold with everything he has.

It weighs him down hard. Buzzes through him. He maps the edges of the box through the vibrations. Tries to reach around, below, any way to contain it, to slow it.

A loud, high pitched screech cuts back up the shaft towards him and he slams his eyes shut, lets the grating, scraping ugliness fill his ears until it sounds like victory.

He can feel the corners of the box, the thickness of its walls, the precious weight it carries. He feels every inch and his veins are like wires pulling, tugging, drawing it back towards him.

He is stretched so far he could snap.

The barrage of metal on metal urges him onwards and the elevator begins to shift. It is such a weight to bear. Too much. He pulls again. And again. A groan of frustration seeps through his lips, gathering in his chest until it is a roar of agony.

He blinks as something hot and thick and red streams from his eyes. His ears. His lips. His arms shake violently, outstretched before him holding nothing. Holding everything.

He can’t see. He can’t breathe. He can’t think.

He pulls.

With a devastating crunch the box comes to a halt, half exposed in the shaft before Erik.

One last piece, solidifying in the ether. A solid, constant hum cutting through the rest. He flicks a finger and feels rather than hears the cuff click open. He blinks back the red from his eyes. His arms are sagging, falling. He has nothing.

A hand snaps out of the gap and slams onto the tile floor. Followed by another. Wrist red raw but clinging to the surface and then Alex is hauling himself up. Dragging himself out. Panting on the floor just out of reach.

Alive.

He lets go. Lets the box drop, severs his hold on it and lets it fall away.

And then so does he.

 

* * *

 

 

Alex is shaking and he cannot stop.

The floor is cold and hard under him and there is nothing to grab onto. Nothing to steady himself with. He gasps in breath after breath. He is alive. He is not falling. He is here.

His head aches with the adrenaline. The room is only just starting to stay still.

Straight. Go straight. That is where his father has fallen. He crawls, closing the space between them.

He crawls until their faces are side by side. Until he can see the slight flaring of Erik’s nostrils. The glazed eyes that waver and finally focus on him. The tracks of blood lining his father’s cheeks, running down his earlobes, staining his teeth.

He leans forward until their foreheads touch. His father is warm and he is steady and they are both here. They are both alive.

They share a shattered, silent moment. He holds his father’s gaze. His father who has destroyed himself. Who has done the impossible. He has saved Alex’s life.

Lying on the floor next to his father Alex has never felt more exhausted.

He has never felt more heartbroken.

He has never felt more loved.

 

* * *

 

She has done it. She has unleashed an unprecedented miracle. She has weaponised a man’s DNA.

Emma approaches the tableaux of father and son, tossing her gun down the elevator shaft. It does not announce the end of its drop until she has reached them.

Moira is at her side, unbidden and she smiles in appreciation, holding out her hand for the offered syringe. A quick stab downwards and Erik barely flinches when the tip enters his skin. His blood fills the vial quickly and she replaces it seamlessly with another. A practised efficiency that cannot be derailed by her excitement.

Moira snaps a small carry case closed around the precious data and Emma is already striding to the wall where the fire alarm is encased.

Jab. Smash. And a blade of glass is wrapped in her handkerchief. Erik is weak but she has unlocked him now. Unleashed him. She cannot take any chances.

Walking back over, she crouches down over Erik. A pointed nod at Moira has her pulling the boy away, trapping him with a knee between the shoulders. He is crying out but she only has eyes for Erik. She runs a hand through his hair, pulling back slightly to expose his throat. His own hand threads around hers, pulling weakly but unable to dislodge her.

“We have come so far Erik. The both of us.” She speaks quietly. His eyes drift to Alex, searching, before meeting her own. “What you can do is extraordinary.”

She must make him understand. Understand that he matters. Understand that he always has. But he will never come back to her side. He will be left behind. He must be. He was never a part of the next stage. She knows he will never use this gift for her. She has lied and she has used his son. Hurt his son.

She has done her job and this thread, this string she has threaded and rethreaded through sessions and plans and months and years…It has come to an end.

Emma looks down at Erik’s bloodstained face, at his had reaching out and unable to grasp anything, unable to stop the path of blade.

“You must understand Erik. These powers you have been given…I cannot let you keep them.”

Alex is screaming at her, bucking under Moira’s grip but she cannot listen. She cannot falter. She has killed two men today. Killed to do her job. This is the end of her plans. The final hurdle to her success. What is one more life?

Nothing. 

She brings the makeshift knife down in a smooth arc.

 

* * *

 

Erik sees the splintered glass aimed at his throat. He cannot feel anything. No hum, nothing to grasp, to push it away. His fingers are empty. He reaches out blindly and Alex’s hand closes on his. He can hear his son crying out but he does not look away as the blade swings down to his throat.

He does not look away so he sees the roof tile flung aside above their heads.

He sees two legs propel down and collide with Emma’s shoulders. He catches blonde hair in the corner of his vision as both bodies are thrown beyond his sight.  

The tools left in a mess.

The roof tile ajar above the work benches.

“Raven.”


	14. Chapter 14

Alex doesn’t dare blink as he watches Raven throw herself down onto Emma, knocking them both to the ground. A glint of light and Raven is burying a thin scalpel into Emma’s shoulder. The shard of glass shatters on impact with the tiled floor.

He glances across at his father. Still breathing. Still alive. He too is turned towards Raven, watching her wrath descend on the room.

Raven is all efficiency. Brutal grace. Cold. She follows through with a swift blow to her opponent’s head, rearing back for another. The motion is aborted mid swing and her head snaps up to meet Alex’s gaze. He has heard the sound too. 

The other woman, Moira, is moving. The rustling of movement above him. The disturbance in the air. A gun swinging down from behind him. He cannot see her but he knows her weapon is angling towards him. He is still pinned with nowhere to go.

Erik’s hand is taut, extended towards him. A furious frown wrinkling his blood smeared face.

But Raven has already released her weapon. He hears a groan and a clatter. The gun crashes down into view. Free from the hand that held it. The pressure releases from his back and a hand comes into view, fleshy palm pierced by a silver scalpel.

Alex rolls to the side as Raven leaps over him. His back connects with Erik’s raised palm and at last he is beside his father. The hand, reassuring against his back, is proof that his father is alive. A simple point of contact more comforting than his own sight.

Raven lunges for Moira but her hand is already scooping down to reclaim the gun. Alex sweeps his leg out in a wild arc, catching the weapon against his shin and propelling it beyond her reach.

Raven’s fist collides with Moira’s collarbone and she is sent crashing to the floor. As soon as her shoulder hits the ground, Moira’s arm juts out, slamming something into Raven’s approaching thigh.

A pen.

Raven grunts, tugging the object from her flesh and angrily tossing it aside. Her foot slams into Moira’s temple and the woman slumps, dazed and boneless. Raven reaches down to tear a strip off the bottom of her shirt before reaching down to secure the wrists of her fallen opponent.  

“Raven.” His father repeats from behind Alex. His voice is quiet, disbelieving.

Raven stands and sucks in a breath, hair wild but stance composed, ready to react. “Hank called me.” She offers, unprompted. “You need to fill me in on a heck of a lot.” Her hands move to her hips and she strides around them, moving towards Emma’s limp form.

Erik hums in tired agreement. Raven reaches them, crouching down to place a hand on his father’s shoulder. She looks up at Alex, a silent question in her searching stare. Alex waves off her concern and sits up, moving closer to his father as she turns her attention to him once more.

“I didn’t think we would have to do this again, Erik. Once was more than enough.” She speaks with a smile but her face is drawn. There are secrets and memories between them that Alex cannot know, cannot touch but this is Raven and he needs someone to trust.

She moves quickly, turning towards Emma and reaching down to tear another strip from her shirt.

“How far does this go?” She asks, her back to them.

And Alex cannot answer. This is a world he cannot understand. His head throbs, a distracting reminder of his dehydration. His throat is stinging and raw, the marks of a stranger’s hands embedded in his skin. He is lost and so, so tired. He just wans to feel safe. Just wants to _be_ safe.

He slumps down next to his father, blocking his own view of the door to the lab. The door that leads to two dead bodies and the scene of a horrible crime. He lays his cheek on the tiles beside his father and finally lets himself cry.

 

* * *

 

 

Erik forces another lungful of air into his chest, drawing it in painfully. Alex cries quietly beside him and he reaches out a hand to comfort him, to hold him. It feels like an age since he has been able to protect his son.  

His fingers hover in the air, just shy of Alex’s hair.

Raven’s harsh cry forces him to turn away. Emma has sprung awake and hooked Raven’s ankles sending her tumbling backwards. Raven is already rolling with the fall and regaining her balance but Emma is already pushing herself up with her elbows and grasping at the scattered pieces of glass.

She lunges in a final, silent attack and Erik is too tired to feel fear. Instead he gives in to the anger swelling in his gut. The humming rises up in his ears and it thrums through his chest, through his fingers. Shaw. Frost. They have taken so much from him. Broken him down. Taken his son. Shattered his safety. Threatened his life.

But now they have given him something to fight back with.

His fingers connect to the metal surrounding him like strings in the air. The resource that has been a constant companion for many years but is only now a true part of him is calling to him. His left leg is no longer an addition, he feels every inch, every strand in his very core.

His fingers reach out into the air, grasping the ligament thread, the metal cord coiled at his left knee. He tugs and it comes free. Comes to him.

He opens his palm and releases it like a whip. Slicing through the air. Strong. Light. He snaps it around Emma’s outstretched wrist, curving it, constricting it until her arm is ensnared. He sends her flying backwards to the door. A flick of his wrist, so easy.

A twist of his fingers and the cord is threaded through the door handle. Secure. Emma’s corrosive words bite through the air, vicious cursing aimed at him but she is drowned out by the humming.

He feels so powerful. He could destroy everyone who has every wished him harm. All with a twitch of his fingers.

It terrifies him.

He fights through the white noise in his head, bringing Raven’s carefully schooled expression into focus. He cannot decipher what is swirling below the surface but he knows that she has seen something dangerous in him. He knows it because he feels it. He feels dangerous.

His vision swims and he cannot hold his head up any longer. He lets it fall to the side, towards Alex. He does not want to think anymore. He does not want to act.

He just wants to sleep. He wants Alex to be safe. With Raven standing guard above him, he knows that he will be.

Alex is safe.

Now he can rest.

He closes his eyes and lets oblivion take him.


	15. Chapter 15

A humming. Gentle. Constant.

Erik wakes with its rhythm in his teeth.

A white blanket fills his vision. Two peaks rise beneath the linen. He stretches his toes. On the right. Then the left.

He smiles.

His left limb feels new. Feels _right_. It has always been his but now he can hear it. Can attune himself to its intricacies, to its movements. This is a new language he is learning to speak. His own body he is learning to decipher.

He gives his toes another curl.

 

Something moves against his hip and he turns slowly, stiffness still threaded through his neck.

Alex is slumped in a chair beside him. Asleep. His hand threaded through the blanket and resting at Erik’s side.

 

Fear and anger cut through his gut, rushing back. There are bruises lining Alex’s wrist, his throat, his cheek.

His face is calm in sleep. Undisturbed by the storm rising up in his father.

Erik breathes in. Breathes out. They are not back there. Shaw is not here. Frost is not here. He does not know how they are both here but it feels like they might be safe. Safety has been a rare commodity in his life. He does not want Alex to ever be as familiar as he is with its absence.

 

He reaches out, hand hovering over mussed hair and the bruise snaking down a pale cheek. His hand looms so big over Alex. It is not the same hand that shook him awake yesterday. Was it only yesterday?

He can hold elevators with this hand. Turn weapons. Tear things apart.

He finally has the impossible strength that every child imagines their father to have and he is terrified.

He is terrified to touch his son.

Emma called him a weapon and Raven…

Raven saw his danger.

He is dangerous.

 

His hand shakes but he cannot take it back, cannot reach the final distance.

Alex’s head turns slowly to face him, eyes drifting out of sleep.

He smiles before his eyes have even cleared.

“Dad.” His voice is rough, his eyes unfocused.

He glances in confusion at the hand paused just shy of him and blindly reaches out for it.

He misses, hand passing through thin air and landing instead on Erik’s chest. Erik is startled from his paralysis, a small laugh drawn from his chest. Alex is never good morning company and a flood of memories returns to him of a sleepy blonde head bouncing off the foam corners of their table, being cradled and steered to safety in his own hands.

He looks down at his chest, at the hand there. He brings his other hand up to rest on top of it. The hum fades away. There is no danger here.

His arms are suddenly full of Alex. Hugged from above. Clumsy, half awake arms wrapping around him. He brings his other arm up to rest across Alex’s shoulders and just lets himself hold his son. Reassure himself that he is safe.

 

“I love you.” Whispered into his ear.

The same is said through tears soaking into Alex’s shoulder.

 

When Alex pulls back, his eyes are focused and awake. He falls back into the chair, head falling back to rest against the small bedside table.

He gestures upwards with his eyes and Erik looks up, past the IV line tethered to his arm, to the fish bowl sitting on the table.

“Darwin brought you his fish. Thought you might like some intelligent company.” Alex says with a sly grin. His expression sobers quickly. “He’s ok, you know. Just a bit bruised.”

Erik nods, brushing a hand over the angry red lines on Alex’s own wrist.

“Where are we?” Erik asks.

Another voice answers from the doorway.

“A friend’s. A lot of people owe me favors you know.”

Raven.

 

She strides into the room carrying a tray of takeaway cups and brown paper bags. She hands a cup to Alex, meeting his eager hands halfway.

“Here. Have one before you run into something expensive.” She smiles fondly when he grins up at her around the cup’s rim, mumbling a thank you.

She turns to Erik, gaze calculating.

“How are you doing?” She asks, setting the tray down by his feet.

“Gaining a better appreciation for your handiwork.” He nudges the tray with his left foot.

Raven huffs in amusement, her eyebrow quirks promising there will be more questions later. Ones he will have to answer. But she gives him a reprieve for now. The easy toss of her shoulders assures him her trust in him is still intact. She is on his side. He should never have doubted her.

“Thank you.” He owes her a debt he can never repay. She has saved him again but this time she has also saved Alex. No words can convey the depth of his debt to her.

She nods, accepting his words. Her smile small and genuine. Then she turns and pelts a wrapped muffin at Alex with a laugh and a “think fast!”

 

There is movement at the door and Armando steps through, hugging the edge and lingering at the threshold.

He catches Erik’s gaze and nods in acknowledgement before his eyes flick to Alex, mid food fight with Raven.

Armando’s grin lights up his face and Erik is thankful for the laughter surrounding him. For the family surrounding him. He owes each of them a debt he can never put into words.

Armando with his steady quiet presence, watching like a guard at the door. Raven with her loyalty and courage, shielding his back and protecting that which is most precious to him.

Alex, who is bruised and tired but smiling with a lightness that has always been infectious.

 

This is his family.

He knows if he asks them to run with him they will.

He does not know where is safe. Who is looking. Where to go.

But he does know who to trust.

For now, that is enough.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has followed along and read this piece! I have really enjoyed writing it and the support has meant a lot. So thanks and I hope you enjoyed it.


End file.
